


Ichiro Needs To Stop

by NOT_Kirie_Goshima



Category: Uzumaki | Spiral (2000)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Canon Related, Dom/sub Undertones, Drinking, Gun Kink, M/M, Non-Canon Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 07:24:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4868201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NOT_Kirie_Goshima/pseuds/NOT_Kirie_Goshima
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ichiro tries to interview Shuichi about the town and his family, and obviously, it doesn't work out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ichiro Needs To Stop

This would hardly be the first time Ichiro Tamura had deluded himself into thinking an interview would be easy, only to have it be ridiculously and unnecessarily difficult. There was that one time he’d tried to interview a ten-year-old, but instead of answering his question, she’d just started singing Minako Honda and dancing stupidly! Ichiro  _almost_ felt sorry for how that would impact the girl’s image four years later, to have done such a thing on live  _national_ TV, but moreso, he just found it funny.

However, little kids being stupid was one thing; insistently unresponsive twenty-year-olds who knew damn well how annoying they were being was a completely different thing. A thing Ichiro did not know how to deal with. Especially  _this particular_ unresponsive twenty-year-old. Shuichi. Goddamn. Saito.

It was so simple! All Ichiro wanted to do was finish his goddamn story. And Shuichi was making this impossible to do. Thanks to his refusal to answer any questions helpfully, Ichiro had had to become basically a detective, rooting through every book in the local library. Which, by the way, was smaller than Ichiro’s house in Midoriyama-Shi, and smelled like half a metric ton of dead fish. 

Ichiro stayed up all night for several consecutive nights trying to find information on Kurozu-Cho thanks to goddamn Shuichi not talking. And now, Ichiro tried yet again to get something out of him--but this time, he wasn’t as gentle about it.

“See reason, Shuichi-kun. If you don’t answer my questions, I’ll shoot you and dispose of your body in Dragonfly Pond’ If you  _do_ answer my questions, however, I’ll get you out of town. Maybe even back to Korea.”

Even with a gun against his head and an irate Ichiro threatening him, Shuichi Saito remained black-faced and monotone as he always was. His expression didn’t falter, not for a split second.

“I don’t care, Tamura-san. You are absolutely not giving any news agency any information about my town or my family. I won’t allow it. I’d rather stay in this stupid town in stupid Japan for the rest of my life. And you will address me as  _Saito-sama_  while you are in  _my_ town.”  
“Excuse me, but you don’t call the shots while I have a gun to your head and a strategy to make your death look like another  _mysterious disappearance_... Shuichi-kun.”

The older man’s finger brushed the trigger. The younger man turned his head to face him.

“I always call the shots... _Ichiro_.”

Ichiro pulled the trigger. 

The bullet went  _through_ the wall of the rundown building they were in!

In less than two seconds, Shuichi had escaped the ropes binding him to a chair, grabbed Ichiro’s wrist and forced him to fire at the wall instead of at Shuichi, and wrestled the gun out of Ichiro’s hand.

“And I’m certainly calling the shots now.”

Not wanting to end up too busy being dead to finish his story, Ichiro put up his hands.

“Fine,  _Saito-sama_. I’m not armed anymore. Don’t you dare fucking shoot me.”

Shuichi grabbed the back of Ichiro’s hair with his fist. Ichiro winced. That fucking hurt.

“I don’t feel like shooting you,  _Tamura-san_.”

Before Ichiro had the time to think  _you don’t feel_ anything _, Shuichi_ , Shuichi had kissed him.

Actually, I don’t think ‘kiss’ is the right word for it. He more like crashed their lips together, forcefully, less like a show of affection and more like a challenge. God dammit, Ichiro was not going to let himself be dominated by a someone less than half his age. He first broke their kiss, then returned Shuichi’s previous favor of grabbing the gun, and then stood up, pulling Shuichi up with him, and  _slammed_ him against the nearest wall behind them. 

Surprisingly, Shuichi did  _not_ try to sack Ichiro or murder him. Ichiro once again had the weapon here, and thus the upper hand, and it would be much harder to break free of his vice grip then to break free of a couple ropes. So instead, Shuichi let himself be pinned into the wall, and let Ichiro kiss him and bite his neck. Who cared if that left marks? Shuichi sure didn’t. He could just ruin the lives of anyone who  _dared_ to comment on it.

Besides, it was sort of exhilirating. Making out with someone who was actually as smart as Shuichi was himself, while being held at gunpoint at the same time. 

*** _The Next Day_ ***

Thank fucking god Kotori, or Kimiho, or whatever her stupid name was, didn’t notice all the goddamn hickeys on Shuichi’s neck the next day when he had to pick her up from school after work. She was too busy doing the anime girl voice and droning on and on about how some girl at her school thought she should have a boyfriend by now. Shuichi’s only thought on this was,  _you are being about as subtle about your feelings for me as a four imperial tonnes of salt materializing_. 

However, that night, when Shuichi usually went over to the police station to drink some of his friends there under the table, somebody did notice. And honestly, it annoyed Shuichi that this somebody was still at the police station at this time of night. Officer Futada, the guy who was so goddamn stupid he didn’t need a given name. Shuichi often wanted to fight him.

“Saito! What is  _that_ , on your neck?”  
“It must be all the fucks I don’t give about you manifesting physically as marks on my body.”  
“Show respect for a--”  
“I own the police, you pretentious sack of snail excrement. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go get drunk now.”  
“Are those hickeys?”  
“No, Futada, they’re stains from the blood of my enemies. Now go away. Your presence in the room is making me feel nauseous.”

Futada stormed off angrily, wishing he could arrest Shuichi. Shuichi strolled over to a table, and downed a pint glass of wine twenty seconds after sitting down.

Outside the window, Ichiro Tamura sat there taking pictures of Shuichi and his police friends being drunk. It would make excellent blackmail material.


End file.
